


ferris wheels (engine failure)

by MAVEfm



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Airplane Crashes, Amusement Parks, Ashes Scene in Avengers: Infinity War Part 1, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Bittersweet, Gen, Memories, Peter Parker Dies, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 20:29:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MAVEfm/pseuds/MAVEfm
Summary: He can't stand Coney Island or the way his whole body feels like it's caught in a current, or the way Mantis is looking at him.





	ferris wheels (engine failure)

It was like.

 

That one trip, to Coney Island, that Peter took with Uncle Ben. Where the wind bit at his face but the fairground treats were all so warm so he didn’t mind. And Ben held him up and carried him on his shoulders and Peter could watch the seagulls fight over the french fries and the napkins.

 

Like he remembered it now, he always thought of how his toes had gone numb, and how cold the seats on the rides were, how rain refused to dry at the curve of the seats. He always remembered the lights and how his fingers burned from the freezing metal of the safety bars and the roar of the ocean just a few feet away.

 

He couldn’t really remember what he and Ben talked about that day, maybe he’d been too young and it was all just chatter and stealing Ben’s glasses and wearing them around until he was squinting at the food truck menu. Then, Ben would steal them back and order Pete something dipped and fried.

 

Peter had hated the memory for a long time.

 

And he still hated Coney Island.

 

He’d gone with Ned, a few times, mostly it was just rollercoasters and watching the seagulls again, and talking about movies. And about Ned’s mom needing surgery, and about his other mom being so stressed she’d made food that had been inedible. And Peter talked, too.

 

It just wasn’t all that much fun.

 

On that day with Uncle Ben, and he’d researched it when he’d gotten older, an American Airlines Airbus (A356) had gone down without any bodies to bury. Engine failure, storm, straight out of a Hollywood movie.

 

Peter had climbed onto Ben’s shoulders and pointed  out the Nimbostratus clouds and Ben joked he was speaking another language.

 

He remembered feeling really jittery that day, excited, but in a downward direction.

 

He’d learned the word in fifth grade, foreboding.

 

So they rode the ferris wheel only three times, and then a fourth before leaving for the day because Ben said he would love the view with all the stars.

 

Peter did, obviously, but it was the only thing he did.

 

Then Aunt May was on the phone when they got back, and she had stayed like that the rest of the night. Ben told that story he always used to tell, about the bat in the house and how grandpa had to wear a top hat and a broom to get it back out. Peter’s feet had been so cold, Ben said he could feel them through the sheets and that downward feeling pitched in Peter’s stomach.

 

He had cried too, and Ben had been confused and had massaged his feet to get them to feel again but it really wasn’t about that and Peter knew that, but he didn’t know what it was actually about.

 

So.

 

The plane that had gone down had supposedly seated 535, but the American Airlines Airbus had taken a round trip, and had only picked up 120.

 

They were all gone now.

 

They had found the plane, and the black box, and the luggage, but everything else was just.

 

It was bad.

 

But Peter hadn’t known about that that day with Ben.

 

He just never wanted to go to Coney Island ever again.

 

Because May was on the phone all night, and the next day.

 

She wouldn’t really look at Peter, so Peter drew pictures of all the types of DNA and a crude plant cell he’d seen in a textbook once. She smiled and hung it low on the fridge so he could admire his own work.

 

She was on the phone until…

 

And it might’ve been a Saturday.

 

Because Peter remembered having his jammies on late into the day. Batman, even though his favorite was the Flash, but he wouldn’t tell Ben that, because Ben liked Batman and they had picked out the outfit together and because Ben had matching bottoms and May just loved to take pictures.

 

May put down the phone and Peter had looked over at her, somehow tearing his eyes away from the cartoons and his sugar only cereal.

 

She had on these earrings ad Peter told her she looked really pretty, because she did.

 

She had sniffled and thanked him, and went to go get groceries.

 

She didn’t come back with any, and Peter had been mad because he wanted chips and _she hadn’t gotten any_.

 

Ben came back with some, because May was in her room and she had shut the door and Peter knew he wasn’t allowed to just go in there.

 

In the wreckage of the Airbus, rescue efforts had uncovered:

 

45 laptops, 17 of the same color and brand of toothbrush, 32 bottles of different variations of citrus and vanilla shampoo, and 2 pairs of diamond earring that cost more than the apartment. Like little snapshots of everyone aboard.

 

There was that feeling from Coney again.

 

It had squeezed Peter’s throat like the white dress shirt collar, and Ben helped him get his little black suit coat on and his parents were dead.

 

He hated Coney Island

 

More than anything, because it just had to be the happiest day of his life.

 

Marred by this extra sense.

 

Him and Ned had gone back a few time, and Ned told him about how his mom’s surgery went so well that the doctor’s called it a miracle. And how his other mom was crying and praying and how amazing it all was.

 

“I don’t believe in Jesus or anything, but it was totally like that.”

 

Peter smiled and he still hated Coney.

 

And that MJ had invited him to ride the ferris wheel and his hands had been shaking the entire time and he still hated it.

 

Last time he had been invited, he had _physically recoiled._

 

He was sick of Coney, and he was sick of foreboding and he was sick of death and sensing things before they happened.

 

It was like.

 

Him and Mantis making eye contact and her eyes were beautiful but just.

 

Filled with terror.

 

“Something’s happening,” She said.

 

Not to Mr. Stark, just to Peter, because Peter knew it too, and there was that Coney Island feeling again. That toe-numbing feeling and the freezing fingers, but no deep fried warmth or seagulls and chatter.

 

He hoped Mr. Stark wouldn’t get mad.

 

There hadn't been any bodies to bury, so they had buried empty coffins, closed to the sky. Peter didn't cry, just clung to May’s skirt and blinked at the strange gray atmosphere and how the feeling had just disappeared.

 

For a while, after he had been bitten, and his body just went sideways for a few days, he had been so hyper aware he feared he had been drugged. He researched it while his heart beat behind his eyes. He caught a can of Sprite before it fell to the floor and his fingers stuck to the keys.

 

He had cried and slammed his hands over his ears and wondered when the ringing would stop. When the Coney Island and the Airplane feeling would never go away.

 

And Mantis’ eyes were just endlessly huge and reflective and together they just _knew._

 

Peter’s voice cracked when he watched her eyes crumble into dust.

 

“You're alright.” Mr. Stark was stuck in breathless astonishment, and Starlord was gone and Drax and it was so much like that night on the street.

 

When his ears had rang and the hair on the back of his neck couldn't warn him in time.

 

Ben had had that same bewildered look on his face, as if the blood on his stomach had just been a short stumble and he was regaining his balance. Peter had fallen to his knees and blood splattered around Ben’s mouth and he said: “You're alright.”

 

But there was no Blood this time. Just ringing and ringing and something is _going to happen, it's coming it's coming and you need to stop it-_

 

There was nothing to stop, no civilian to web or burglar to tackle.

 

He breathed in.

 

And out.

 

And he was stumbling and there's no ground beneath him anymore so he grabs out and Uncle Ben-

 

Mr. Stark catches him and he shakes, out of control, just quaking, every nerve firing off and there's nothing to reach anymore and he's _afraid._

 

_He's so scared._

 

There's just nothing he can do anymore except _beg_ and maybe Mr. Stark could put something back together or Peter could make him _see,_ or make him _understand-_

 

But he just _can't_ , he can't go, please he can't go.

 

He can't go back to Coney Island, he can't let Ben go, he can't get back on the ferris wheel and he can't stop an airplane from falling out of the sky and he got hurt and Mr. Stark said that would be on him-

 

Peter choked ash and cold sea air. “I'm sorry,” He put his head back on hard rock and saw orange sky. _“I'm sorry.”_

 


End file.
